


Best of Friends

by anna-phora (xanaphorax)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adulthood, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, College Friends, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fake Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Protective Bucky Barnes, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Unacknowledged Feelings, idiots to lovers, post-college
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 07:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24347158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanaphorax/pseuds/anna-phora
Summary: When your best friend steals (aka. marries) Bucky's best friend, the two of you are left with with only one option: to become best friends yourselves.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Bobbi Morse, Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse, James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Steve Rogers & Bernie Rosenthal, Steve Rogers/Bernie Rosenthal, Wanda Maximoff & Vision, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Kudos: 13





	1. Moving In

**Author's Note:**

> This originally started as an OC fic which I turned into a reader insert. I'm not wholly tied one way or the other, so if you start it and think "I'd prefer the character had a name" let me know in the comments! 
> 
> Also, I use an amalgamation of movie and comic characterizations.

The pounding on the door was seriously the last thing you needed right now. 

The first thing you needed was a drink.

Unfortunately there was no way on God’s green earth you were going to successfully parallel park that UHAUL, and the idea of going to a liquor store within walking distance of your new place seemed about as safe as letting in the person on the other side of the door. Something told you it wasn’t the UPS guy causing the door to rattle against the frame.

You sent up a silent prayer that whoever it was would just go away and leave you to the excellent pity party you had been throwing herself.

The banging grew louder. Which was about right for today.

Since dying probably couldn’t make you feel any worse than you did right now, you strode across the apartment and wrenched open the door. In the next second, you were pushed back into the apartment as someone hurled themselves at you. 

“You’re here!”

Thank goodness. _Bernadette_. 

Your shoulders dropped as you wrapped your arms tightly around your best friend, squeezing your eyes shut and willing yourself to relax into the wave of relief. “Hi,” you mumbled.

“Took you long enough to open the door,” Bernadette complained, but you could hear the smile in her voice as she rocked you from side to side.

“I thought you were a crazy person.”

Bernadette let out a wild laugh right in your ear, and you flinched but refused to let go. 

“She is a crazy person,” a male voice interrupted your moment, and you opened your eyes to find two hulking figures leaning against the wall behind Bernadette. The brunette smirked at you–or maybe Bernadette–as the blonde seemed preoccupied with scanning the hallway. 

“Fuck you, Bucky,” Bernadette lifted her middle finger for him to see without releasing you from the hug. 

Bucky just laughed in response. “I suggested texting you that we were on your way, but she thought you’d enjoy the surprise.” His eyes glimmered with amusement as your eyes rolled on their own accord. 

“And you did, right?” Bernadette asked, pulling back enough to look at you eagerly. 

“Maybe we should get out of the hallway,” the blonde suggested, putting a stop to the bickering and saving you from having to pick sides.

“Yes!” Bernadette’s attention shifted as she released you from the hug. “Let’s see it!" 

Your stomach constricted. "It’s pretty rough.”

“Of course it is. You just got here like thirty minutes ago,” she dismissed, pushing past you. You sighed, opening the door and letting the men enter. 

“Hi Kristina. Sorry we didn’t text,” the blonde greeted, giving you a quick hug on his way in. 

“It’s fine, Steve,” you patted his back before dropping back down onto your feet.

“Your Honor,” Bucky grinned, entering the apartment. 

“Your Bestness.” You smiled back, following him in and closing the door behind you to keep anyone else from seeing the depressing state of your new reality. 

The three quickly fanned out to survey your apartment.

“This is a …..nice place,” Bernadette smiled too brightly as she circled a pile of boxes in the kitchen to flip on the tap water. You watched as it sputtered a few times before picking up into a yellow-ish stream. She quickly flipped it off, turning to face you and see if you had seen. Making eye contact, she shrugged. “That clears up." 

Bless her. She had to be the best friend to ever exist. Because if you were her, you totally would have hit her with an ‘I told you so’ by now.

Bernadette had warned you that an affordable single apartment was suspicious. That sometimes landlords blurred the neighborhood lines. That you may need to fix it up in order for it to even be considered a fixer-upper. Everything she warned you about was true.

You had thought you were going to Williamsburg. Instead you were in Bed-Stuy.

The picture on the listing must have been from like 10 years ago. Or maybe it was a neighbor’s place. Or straight photoshopped. Because exposed brick was one thing but crumbling walls were another. 

Add to that the three locks on the door and the fact that you were eight hours away from pretty much everyone you knew and loved, and you were feeling super great about this life decision. 

"Does it?” you asked, making your way over to the living room area where about half of the floor seemed to have been ripped up. 

“Sure,” Bernadette nodded, moving out of the kitchen. “And if it doesn’t, that’s what Brita is for." 

"You locked the truck, right?” Steve asked from where he stood by a window, staring out to the street below. 

“Stop, the neighborhood’s not that bad,” Bernadette waved at Steve. She made a show of rolling her eyes as she moved past you to open the door to your bedroom.“You did lock the truck, right?” she paused to whisper in your ear. You hummed a yes and turned to follow her. 

The bedroom was less depressing than the rest of the apartment in the way Mount Everest was less dangerous than K2. It was still a fucking mountain.

“Interesting paint job,” Bernadette remarked, staring at the wall which was half royal blue and half blood red. And not even artsy diagonal halves. No, of course not. Vertical halves. “I think I’ve seen something like this on Pinterest." 

You groaned. 

Bernadette tilted her head slightly, considering the room. "I think you probably have enough room to fit a twin and a dresser in here if you line them up against the wall." 

"It’s terrible,” you whined. “The whole place is a complete shithole.”

Bernadette gave you a sad smile. “It’s better than I thought it would be," she brushed past you, walking back into the living room. 

"There’s a random hole in the kitchen ceiling!” You flung an arm out gesturing vaguely towards the kitchen. 

“It could have been way worse. I was expecting it to be like a fourth of the size or for there to be a random dude you had to share it with. And anyway, Bucky’s handy.”

Your eyes flicked to Bucky, who was surveying the hole in the kitchen ceiling.

“You can’t see into the apartment upstairs, so that’s good,” he commented and Steve snorted. Bernadette slipped off her shoe and chucked it at Bucky. He ducked, and it hit the wall of the kitchen, knocking loose part of the wall. 

Whatever. 

Bernadette winced. “Sorry,” she apologized to you, meekly, shuffling across the apartment to retrieve the shoe from Bucky’s outstretched hand. Taking the shoe, she whacked him in the arm with it. Bucky laughed again, making eye contact with you and shaking his head. You allowed a single exhale of amusement to escape you. But that was pretty much all the humor you had to spend on the situation.

“Do you have the keys to the truck?” Steve asked, and you nodded, patting your pockets before finding them and offering the small keychain to him. “Alright, Buck,” he nodded with his head towards the door, and Bucky moved around Bernadette, giving her a wide berth as he went to follow Steve. 

She started to follow when Steve stopped her.

“We got it. It’s just the heavy stuff, right?” he asked you. 

You nodded. “Yeah, I got most of the boxes up before you came." 

"Are you saying we can’t handle the heavy stuff? Did I secretly marry a misogynist?” Bernadette asked, putting her hands on her hips. 

Steve shook his head, smiling. “We need someone to watch the stuff up here since the door’s going to be open." 

"Steve–” Bernadette started to protest again. You weren’t sure if she was about to argue about her physical prowess or the apartment’s safety, but regardless of the argument this eternal optimist wanted to make, you were fairly sure Steve was right.

“That’d be great, you can help me figure out where to put things as we unpack.”

Bernie brightened at the prospect. “I’m glad you said that, because I already have some ideas.” She turned back to face Bucky and Steve. 

“Bucky, make sure he doesn’t overexert himself. I need him fully functional tonight.” You hoped that everyone mixed the grimace that crossed your face. Steve blushed slightly, and leaned down to whisper something in Bernie’s ear. A grin spread across her face, and you were very thankful Steve was not one of those people who couldn’t whisper.

“Ah newlyweds,” Bucky made eye contact with you again, and you couldn’t read the look on his face. He seemed almost like he was waiting for you to get the punchline of a joke. Maybe if your brain was operating at all correctly, you would have gotten it. Instead, you snorted before turning to Bernadette.

“Kitchen should be easiest and least in the way, right?”

“As long as we get it done in time for Bucky to take a look at the ceiling. And the bit of wall he knocked off." 

You knew Bernadette well enough to see the red herring for what it was. You were not going to get distracted with holding her accountable for further destroying your shitty apartment.

"I’m not going to ask Bucky to fix my ceiling,” you said, gathering the utensils out of the box and sticking them in a drawer by the stove. 

“It’s not a big deal–” Bernie dismissed, crossing paths with you to take the utensils and stick them in one of the mason jars you’d already unpacked.

You shook your head, “It’s weird to ask one of your friends to fix my ceiling–”

“He’s your friend too,” Bernadette argued, taking the napkins out of your hands and disappearing with them. 

“I’ve met him _twice_." 

Bernadette came back and rustled through the open boxes, the sound of glass clinking and metal shifting against each other in her wake."Yes, but the second time you spent four days practically attached to the hip with him." 

"Because he was the best man, and I was the maid of honor. It was our job to be attached at the hip and make sure everything went well.”

“Was creating cute little nicknames part of the job as well?” Bernadette asked, pausing to pin you with a look.

“It’s just an inside joke, and they’re not that cute.”

“Oh, they’re pretty cute,” Bernie smirked, bending back down to go through a box. “Where did you put your dish towels?" 

You stood up from your box, coming over to join her in looking through the box. "I mean he calls you Bernie.”

“Everyone calls me Bernie now,” Bernadette dismissed. “Besides he has two nicknames for you." 

"K is not a nickname. It’s a taunt.”

“You mean flirtatious teasing.”

“I mean a jab at how I’m a shit texter.”

Bernadette looked you dead in the eyes before shooting you what was probably supposed to be a sultry wink. “ 'k." 

You threw the dish towels you’d just dislodged at her and she laughed, picking them back up from where they fell in the box, and moving over to the open drawer. "Setting aside the two nicknames and their quality, he volunteered to come help you. I don’t think he’d mind taking a look." 

"Maybe,” you conceded, knowing Bernadette wouldn’t stop until she’d had some measure of success. It’s what had to make her such a good law student. You had given in enough times on the promise of maybe that with a glint in her eye she dropped the subject.

* * *

It took Bucky and Steve a little over an hour to unload all of your things from the truck. It was another forty-five minutes of Bernadette reimagining the floor plan and forcing the four of you to continuously shuffle the furniture around before she was satisfied. When all was said and done, the apartment did look marginally better. At least some of the punched in outlets were hidden and the worst of the floor was covered.

“Well,” Bernadette said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s it. You’re officially a New Yorker." 

"And you can officially stop sending me those sketchy Craigslit ads and Monster listings,” you nodded, placing your hands on your hips and surveying the apartment. 

“Neither of you are New Yorkers,” Bucky shook his head, navigating the words around a hair-tie as he fixed his bun. Bernadette turned to glare at him, and he laughed, slipping the hair-tie around the bundle of hair.

“You married in. Doesn’t count.”

“Excuse you, I’m fluent in Subway Announcement and I’ve had a rat steal some of my food. If that doesn’t make me a New Yorker then I don’t know what does,” Bernadette huffed.

"You’re a New Yorker,” Steve soothed, putting an arm around her, and kissing the top of her head. 

“Well,” you sighed, hoping to stop another bantering fight from breaking out between Bucky and Bernadette. “I need pizza. And beer. And to get out of this apartment. Anyone else?”

“Oh,” Bernadette’s face fell as she glanced quickly up at Steve and then at you. “I wish we could, but Steve and I have reservations. I wasn’t even thinking when we made them, and it’s such a long wait list…” she trailed off, frowning sympathetically “I’m so sorry, babe.”

“I’m free,” Bucky offered. “And I actually know a decent place that’s not too far from here. Since I’m a real New Yorker.” The jab effectively stopped the sly grin that was growing on Bernadette’s face.

“I–”

“What line did we take to get here?” Bucky asked, and Bernadette sulked. “It just slipped out.”

“It’s a tourist mistake,” Bucky shook his head, tsking. “The green line." 

"Well,” Bernadette hmphed, “Steve and I are going to take the G train back home to get ready for dinner.” She moved over to you, placing a kiss on your cheek. “I will see you for lunch sometime soon because we can do that now that we live in the same city!" 

You smiled, and reached up to hug Steve as he bent down to say goodbye. 

"Bucky, please do not take my best friend to any godforsaken hole in the wall back alley pizza joint that’s definitely just a front. I don’t care how good their pizza is,” Bernadette cut off his protest and he smiled, shaking his head. 

“You’re missing out on all of the best food.”

“Ok,” Bernadette dismissed, her disbelief dripping from each syllable. She took Steve by the hand, and you and Bucky walked them to the door. “Love you both.” And with that, Bernadette and Steve were gone, leaving you alone in your apartment with Bucky. 

He sighed, running a hand through the roots of his hair, despite the fact that it messed up his perfectly done man bun. 

“You don’t have to get pizza with me,” you said, flashing a quick smile at him. 

“Trying to get rid of me?” Bucky asked, looking down at you amused. 

You shook your head, turning away from him quickly to try to locate your purse amongst the boxes. “No, I just–didn’t want you to just come along to be nice. Or because you felt bad that Bernadette ditched so I’m all alone.”

“How could I feel bad when you put it like that?" 

"I didn’t mean it like–” you started, stuttering and Bucky stopped you, coming up beside you with your purse hanging from his finger. 

“I know. Just rest assured that I’m happy to put up with you for pizza." 

You snatched the purse from him, slinging it across your body as Bucky laughed at you. "Ready?" 

You nodded and the two of you headed out the door.

* * *

For all of the inconveniences and tragedies that had befallen you today, the walk to the pizza place was not one of them. In fact, second to seeing Bernadette at your door, it was probably the best part of the entire day. The walk was short, and the September evening air was pleasantly warm. With Bucky and his MMA fighter build next to you, navigating through the neighborhood didn’t wrack your nerves as much as it could have. Although, it might not have been Bucky’s muscles as much as his easy conversation that provided the comfort. He told you about his job, where to find the best bodegas, and one embarrassing story of Steve growing up. By the time you arrived at _Tony’s Pizza Spot_ , you had almost forgotten about how awful your day was.

"Hey Tony,” Bucky called out, entering the place, and the owner looked up from where he was cutting a pizza. He jerked his head up in a nod. It was a small wood paneled shop with no tables or counters to sit at. Instead, there was one large display case with different meats and breads. You looked up at the simple menu, and Bucky stood closely next to you despite the fact that you had a feeling he didn’t need to look at the offerings.

“Pepperoni and sausage ok?” Bucky asked, and you nodded, scanning the drink refrigerators for any sight of beer. “And for your milkshake?”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “I’m getting a milkshake?”

“You are,” he nodded. 

“Well,” you looked up at the board. “Cherry vanilla." 

"Excellent choice,” Bucky smiled, approaching the counter as Tony tied off the pizza box with twine and then approached. 

“What can I getcha?” he asked his eyes flicking between you and Bucky. 

Bucky placed the order quickly, and Tony nodded, quickly tallying it up on the register. You reached into your purse for your wallet, but Bucky waved you off. “I got this.”

“Pretty sure it’s customary for the person who just subjected you to two hours of moving stuff to pay for the pizza. ”

“Nah,” Bucky shook his head, already handing the cash over to Tony.“Think of it as a housewarming gift." 

"Just moved to the neighborhood?” Tony asked, passing back Bucky his change, and you nodded. “Welcome." 

"She’s right down the street,” Bucky said, dumping the change into the tip jar and stuffing the bills back into his pocket. “Figured I’d show her the best pizza spot in town.”

“Damn right,” Tony grinned, moving away to grab out an already prepped cheese pizza.. “How’s Clint doin’? Didn’t see him last week.”

Bucky shook his head. “Broke his wrist last week, so Kate’s placed him under house arrest to make sure he doesn’t make it worse like last time. I’m guessing one of them will be in soon." 

Tony had the same look of exasperation as Bucky as he ladeled sauce onto the pizza. "It’s always something with him. Broken bones. Concussion. That boy’s a walking accident.”

You sorted through your memories trying to remember if you had met Clint at the wedding or either of the times you had been up to visit Bernadette at school. The name sounded familiar enough, but you couldn’t picture the face. If Bernadette was here she could jog your memory. She’d remind you who Clint was give you a few facts about his life and a quick story so you felt like you knew him already. But she wasn’t here. She was off being married, and you were in this tiny pizza shop with a boy you hardly knew who was doing his best to keep you company.

“You ok?” Bucky bumped shoulders with you. You hadn’t realized their conversation ended and Tony had moved away to make the milkshakes.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you shook your head trying to clear your thoughts. 

Bucky shot you a very disbelieving look. “I can’t tell if you’re a bad liar or just too tired to try to be good at it.”

Your shoulders dropped. Frankly, it was both. “It’s nothing…it’s stupid,” you dismissed.

“Bummed you’re stuck here with me instead of Bernie?” Bucky guessed. Very correctly. 

“No,” you sighed. “I just wish she was here too.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Bucky nodded, facing back forward to watch Tony making the milkshakes. 

You felt bad. After all, Bucky had volunteered to give up his Monday evening to helping you move in. He probably had a whole list of things he’d rather do after work than lug a bookshelf up your stairs, but he’d done it, hadn’t complained, and then treated you to pizza. And here you were wishing he was Bernadette. 

“It was kind of rude of your best friend to steal my best friend,” you commented with a half smile.

Bucky snorted. “Sorry, your honor, but your best friend stole my best friend.”

“What?”

Bucky looked back down at you. “You weren’t there. He was gone long before she was. Pretty much the second he met her it was over for him.”

“What, and you were there the second they met?” you sassed back, placing your hands on your hips. 

“Actually, yes,” Bucky said, reaching forward to grab a milkshake Tony placed up on the counter. He peered into the top of the cup and passed it over to you. “Steve volunteered both of our services to move in Bernie’s stuff.”

“I didn’t realize you were there,” you said, accepting the dessert from Bucky. “She only ever mentioned Steve.”

“Maybe he did steal her away fairly instantly then.” Bucky shrugged. “Anyway, you realize there’s only one solution to our problem, right?”

You gave him a flat look. “I’m not going to kill them.”

“Holy shit, no,” Bucky laughed. “That’s where you went first?” Your face heated up, and you quickly busied yourself with a sip of the milkshake which was very good. Better than alcohol good. “And?” Bucky asked. 

“It’s delicious,” you said, returning for another sip before looking back at him. “But what’s the solution?”

“We’ll be best friends.”

“You want to be my best friend?” you asked, with a small smile.

“More like I want you to be my best friend,” Bucky said. “Steve’s been doing a shit job recently, and you moved all the way from North Carolina to be with Bernie–I like that kind of effort." 

You laughed, and Bucky grinned back, taking his milkshake from off the counter.

"Alright,” you agreed, feeling a little bit lighter. “I’m not replacing Bernadette though. You’ll just have to be the substitute for when she’s not up to par.”

“I can work with that,” Bucky nodded. “And as my first act as your substitute best friend is to demand to throw you a housewarming party. Don’t make plans for next Saturday.”

The smile slid off of your face. “No, thank you. I don’t want anyone walking into my trap house apartment.”

“Your apartment is not that bad.”

“Bucky. It’s terrible.”

“Your Honor, Steve and I shared a glorified closet for our entire sophomore year of college. We couldn’t both stand in our kitchen.” Bucky leveled you a glance. “And our friends still came over to visit us.”

You mulled it over, stirring your milkshake with the straw. It wasn’t a terrible idea. It was bad,, uncomfortable, ill-thought out, and overall not good, but it wasn’t _terrible_. You nodded. “Alright, Your Bestness. Saturday.”

“Excellent,” Bucky grinned, grabbing the box Tony slid across the counter. “We’ll discuss details over pizza." 


	2. Housewarming

You regretted everything. Whatever had possessed you and subsequently made you think you’d be ready to host people in your apartment _five days_ after you moved in needed to be taken care of. Sage was being added to the shopping list. 

It had been a scramble to say the very least. So much so that you texted Bernadette to beg her to come help you get ready for the party. She had agreed to come over straight after her last class to help you with the last few boxes and to get food and drinks ready.

So, she should have been here approximately three hours ago. None of your increasingly frantic texts had been answered and ever the proponent for plausible deniability, Bernadette hadn’t enabled read receipts.

You glanced at your phone. Bucky had asked if you needed help with anything, and you told him Bernadette was coming even though at that point she was over an hour and a half late. Instead, you sent him on a mission for alcohol because while going out to a pizza dinner with Bucky and playfully calling him your best friend was one thing, spending an extended amount of time alone with Bucky in your apartment would have been nightmarish. Sure, he seemed to have plenty to say, but the fact remained: you didn’t know him that well and you didn’t want to give Bernadette any proof for her case.

A knock came from the door and you sighed, glancing up at the clock. _Finally_.

You swung the door open. “You’re so late.”

You were met with a raised eyebrow and someone who was very decidedly not Bernadette. “I was told 7.”

_Natasha. Fuck._

You remembered Natasha. She was sort of impossible to forget. Natasha had been the bridesmaid who practically took over your Maid of Honor duties leading up to the wedding. It wasn’t a hostile takeover or like anything out of _Bridesmaids_. It had been purely practical. You lived 8 hours away and didn’t know the rest of the girls. She was here and could easily organize the bridal shower, dress fittings, bachelorette party, and the rest. All you had to do was get Bernadette down the aisle and give a speech.

“Sorry, I thought you were Bernadette,” you apologized, stepping aside so Natasha could come in.

“Different redhead,” she smiled, heading directly into your kitchen, and pulling alcohol from the brown bag in her hand. Grey Goose, French Vanilla Ciroc, and a bottle that’s name was in Russian and you had never seen before. So, you were good on Vodka.

“Sorry, I’m running late getting everything set up. ”

“Don’t worry about it,” Natasha dismissed, surveying your counter. “Are these staying here or going out to the table?”

“I got it,” you exclaimed, rushing across the room as if to snatch anything out of her hands. You picked up a few bags of chips into your arms. “You don’t have to do anything. Just sit? Have a drink? I’m so sorry.” You apologized again, heading back to the living room to stick the chips on the table before returning for the rest. Natasha looked at you with vague amusement, and you could feel your face burning under her stare.

Quickly you ran through the list in your mind of things that still needed to be done. You needed ice. Bucky was bringing ice. You needed to put the chips in bowls probably. And the salsa. And maybe take the brownies out of the pans and put them on plates?

You couldn’t believe that of all people you were stuck here early with Natasha. Perfect Natasha. Who would have probably had everything unpacked and designer furniture and better snacks than a few pans of boxed brownies and store brand tortilla chips. This was actual hell. You thought it was moving into this place, but if you had known this was coming–

“Here. Drink,” Natasha said, thrusting a red solo cup at you as she blocked your path out of the kitchen. You fumbled putting the chip bowls onto your counter and took the cup from her. You looked into the cup, trying to determine which of the three liquors she had poured into it. As if you could tell the vodkas apart on sight.

“Cheers,” Natasha bumped her cup against yours before downing her shot, and you did the same, the alcohol surprisingly smooth and crisp. “Better?” Natasha lifted an eyebrow at you.

You nodded, thankful for the small pause and the warmth of the shot. She took your cup from you and moved back into the kitchen, pouring more Grey Goose into it before going to your freezer and rummaging a few ice cubes out and dropping them in. You reached to pick up the chips bowls again, but before you could return to your original task, she took them from your hands, replacing them with the drink. Without another word she guided you out of your kitchen with one hand on the small of your back as the others held the bowls. The pair of you made a beeline for the couch, and you sank into it as Natasha began pouring the chips into the bowls.

“You don’t need to–” you started to protest, standing up from your seat.

“Sit down. Relax,” Natasha ordered, and you shut your mouth, sinking back down into the couch. “What has to be done?” You opened your mouth to apologize or tell her again that she should really just let you continue finishing up the work, but she held up a finger. “I’m early. I’m helping.”

“Um,” you said dumbly, looking around the apartment. “Cutting the brownies, music, trash, recycling, it’s probably too late for decorations–oh! The napkins and paper plates and everything. They’re still in the bag I think.”

Natasha nodded, and you could see her organizing and gears turning in her head. “So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to take care of the music, drink your drink, and get ready to greet people. I’ve got the rest.”

“Thank you,” you said in a small voice.

She smiled at you. “You’re learning.”

You took a quick sip of your drink, before leaving it on the coffee table to head towards your bedroom for your speaker. It took a full three minutes to find it in the mess you’d shoved into your closet and another thirty seconds to find the cord. Just as you were successfully untangling it from your foam roller, your phone buzzed. Eager to get an ETA on Bernie’s arrival, you tugged the cord maybe a little harder than you should have, dislodging the cord. And the foam roller. And a fairly large pile of things that came crashing onto your lap.

“Everything ok in there?”

_Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry. Not with Natasha in the house. Don’t you fucking cry._

“Yep!” _Ok psycho, tone it down1000%._ “Just dropped something!”

You pulled your phone out of your back pocket, eyeing the screen.

Pushing the disappointment down, you opened the text.

Attached was a very unflattering picture of one of the groomsmen from the wedding carrying two cases of beer and a bag of ice. He was clearly in the middle of saying something, with one eyelid half closed, his mouth hanging open, and his nose slightly wrinkled. It made you snort, and a small smile tugged at your lips.

“You’re sure you’re ok in there?” Nat asked, and you could hear her walking closer to your room.

You shoved your phone into your back pocket and scooped up the speaker and cord, kicking the pile back into your closet as best you could. “Mhmm!” you chirped, coming out of the room and almost bumping into Nat. She had finished laying out all of the snacks you had as well as the paper goods, and had made the wise decision to turn off the fluorescent light overhead and instead switch on all of your lamps and hanging lights around the room. The effect honestly made the forty-five minutes you spent fighting with the string lights worth it. She had placed the plastic reusable bag you’d stuffed the groceries in on the ground with a little tag that said “Recycle Me!” and taped a large trash bag so it hung off the side of the counter. On the kitchen counter was a stack of flash cards and a sharpie, a couple of bent tags stood saying “homemade brownies” & “salt + vinegar.”

How she moved that fast–or maybe you moved that slow–you didn’t understand, but you were starting to feel a bit better about things.

“Great!” Natasha said, taking the speaker from you. “Do you have a playlist you want?”

Making the playlist had been the least of your worries. She must have caught onto the blank look on your face because she smiled and pressed the button to pair the device. While she was busy fiddling with her phone, you pulled yours out.

You might have added more question marks if Lorde’s voice hadn’t begun to fill your apartment. Instead, you clicked send and hoped that Bernie would look at her phone.

“Drink,” Natasha pointed to the red solo cup still perched on the coffee table. You didn’t bother arguing and instead walked over and picked it up to sip. You glanced over your cup at Natasha.

“If I’m drinking, you have to too.”

Natasha smiled. “Fair enough.” She headed to the kitchen as a knock sounded from the door. A jolt of panic rushed through you.

Natasha looked up from where she was pouring herself a drink out of the Russian vodka bottle, staring pointedly at the door.

You moved from behind the coffee table to the door, pulling it open. All of the tension left you as you stared at Bucky’s concerned face. The relief must have been visible on your face because his own brow smoothed out.“

"We come bearing beer!” The guy behind Bucky (the same one from Bucky’s photo) announced. He nudged Bucky inside the apartment, and Bucky stepped to the side, shifting his grip on his own cases of alcohol. You shut the door behind them.

“You go there faster than I thought you would,” you murmured.

“You said hurry,” he answered, equally lowly.

“Hey Nat!” The other guy greeted Natasha in your kitchen. You looked over Bucky’s shoulder as she directed him to put the drinks into the fridge.

“I didn’t expect you to break the laws of space and time. It’s been like less than ten minutes.”

“We were right down the street.” The concerned look was back on Bucky’s face. “Where’s Bernie?”

You pressed your lips together tightly, shrugging. “It’s just me and Natasha.” You tried to keep your voice as even and carefree as possible. Bucky looked over his shoulder as if noticing her for the first time despite the fact that his friend had greeted her.

“I know we’re not supposed to mention the apartment, but it looks good,” the other guy commented, coming out of the kitchen, beer in hand. Both Natasha and Bucky turned to glare at him, even as you looked up at Bucky, your cheeks growing warm.

“Smooth, Wilson,” Natasha rolled her eyes, and Bucky walked into the kitchen, pausing to punch his friend in the shoulder.

“It’s a compliment! I mean, the way he was stressing it, I would have expected there to be a raccoon sitting in the corner or like, all of the windows to just be holes in the walls.”

“That’s probably my fault,” you said smally, wishing you had your cup in hand. “I–hate it.”

He gave your apartment another cursory glance. “I mean, it’s no midtown loft, but it’s nice. Spacious. Clean…ish,” he nodded, approvingly.

“You got it sight unseen too, right?” Nat asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

Wilson looked floored. “You got this sight unseen?”

“Alright, let’s move on from apartment talk,” Bucky said, returning with a beer in hand. He paused. “Nice music choice.”

“It’s Natasha’s.” Bucky’s eyes fell on you, and you moved over to the coffee table careful not to run, grabbing up your drink. How early would be too early to claim a needed bathroom break? Should you try calling Bernie? What if something happened. Maybe you should try Steve. You slid your phone out of your pocket, glancing at the screen. In the commotion of greeting Bucky and Wilson, you hadn’t felt it buzz.

We. Our.

You took a deep breath, put the phone away, and took what was probably too long of a sip from your drink.

“What are you drinking?” Bucky asked as you finally pulled the cup away from your lips.

You glanced down into the clear concoction in front of you, giving yourself a chance to swallow. “Pretty sure it’s straight vodka.”

Bucky shot a look at Natasha.

“Shots were inefficient for our needs at the time,” she defended, taking a sip of her own vodka, finally emerging from the kitchen with a stack of the signs.

“Did you make these brownies?” Wilson asked, navigating the words around a mouthful. You nodded, wondering if he had just prevented another fight or if he simply hadn’t noticed the challenging looks on Bucky and Natasha’s faces. Given the past five minutes with him, it could have gone either way.

“They’re delicious.”

“You remember Sam?” Bucky asked, gesturing to his friend.

“Vaguely,” you said, reaching over to shake the outstretched hand and feeling very thankful that you had not directly asked ‘Wilson’ a question. Just the thought of having stuck your foot in your mouth made your stomach churn.

“What’s up? Kristina, right?” He shook your hand a couple of times before letting it go. “Welcome to New York.”

“Thanks,” you smiled. You were saved from having to make any small talk by another knock at the door. This time, you weren’t going to leave your drink behind, because there was absolutely no way Bernadette was on the other side of the door.

You swung it open.

Baiting the universe had not worked.

Instead, on the other side stood four people. A blonde, a brunette, a redhead and a dude. It was the beginning of a bad joke, which was pretty on brand for this party. Thankfully you at least recognized two out of the four.

“Hi, welcome,” you pasted on a smile, opening the door further so they could come in. Wanda smiled at you ushering the strange man in with her as Natasha directed them to place their wine in the kitchen. Maria followed with a quick, “Hey.” before addressing the crowd. "I come bearing good news.“

The room paused expectantly, and you took the opportunity to close the door behind the mystery blonde.

"Tony’s not coming.”

“Don’t tease me,” Sam said, straightening up. “I swear to God, if you say psych–”

“Hand to God,” Maria raised her hand.

“Hallelujah!” Sam whooped. “This round’s on me.” Despite the chuckles echoing across the apartment at the joke, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly out of the loop.

“You invited the pizza guy?” you asked Bucky who promptly burst out laughing along with Sam and just about everyone else, minus a glaring Natasha and sympathetic Wanda. Your face burst into flames, and you hid it behind your cup. Since your cup was already there, you figured it would be a good moment to drink as much as humanly possible.

“I’m sure Clint would have _loved_ that,” the blonde next to you said.

“Tony’s my boss, sort of. And our…friend,” Wanda filled in. “Sort of.”

“Not my friend,” Sam shook his head.

“He was on the outskirts of our friend group in college,” Wanda amended. “We were better friends with his roommate, James.”

“Rhodey!” Sam and Bucky chorused together.

“He did ROTC with the idiots,” Maria clarified.

“So why was Tony invited?” you asked lightly, sure there was more you weren’t catching on to.

“Because he turns into a major drama queen if we leave him out, and he always finds out if we leave him out,” Natasha shook her head. “Also, he has excellent taste in booze.”

“Speaking of which,” Maria headed into the kitchen with her own bottle of wine as she and Wanda went about making drinks and the rest of the party resumed. You expected the blonde to follow the parade into the kitchen, but instead she remained by you.

“Hi, I’m Bobbi,” she stuck out her wine-free hand with a bright smile. “The former new girl.” You jostled your cup into your other hand and shook hers.

“Nice to meet you. Kristina.”

Bobbi released your hand, but didn’t move away. “So, speaking of backstories, how’d you get roped in with this bunch?”

“Oh, I uh, I grew up with Bernadette. Bernie.”

“Right! Sorry, I should have remembered,” Bobbi shook her head at herself.

“That’s ok, I don’t think I remember you from the wedding either.”

Bobbi smiled. “I didn’t join in until after the wedding. I work with Maria,” she said pointing to Maria who was now chatting over her drink with Sam. “So I guess that means I’m technically still the new girl.” You couldn’t help but smile at her. She was so disarmingly genuine it was both comforting and massively intimidating. How could someone who had known these people for less than four months be able to fit in so flawlessly? Get their inside jokes? Or at least be so good at pretending like she got them? “So, you’re new to the city. How do you like it so far?”

Most of your interactions over the past week had been centered around setting up your life. You wouldn’t exactly count getting renter’s insurance and setting up a new bank account as getting to new New York City. You had a feeling the most “New York” thing you’d done was stop to get take out and been so shocked at the price that you determined you would make _all_ of your meals at home from now on.

“It’s big,” you commented dumbly, and Bobbi laughed. And because it was Bobbi, it felt like she was laughing _with_ you.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Too big sometimes. Where are you from?”

“North Carolina. I moved here from Chapel Hill.”

“Oh, so you must have gone to UNC?” Bobbi guessed, and you nodded. “So you must be a genius.”

You snorted. “I’m not a genius.”

“You know, that’s exactly what a genius would say.” You laughed loudly and freely for what was probably the first time all week.

“Nope, I don’t like the sound of that,” Bucky rose from the couch, shaking his head as he approached the two of you. “Find your own best friend, Morse, this one’s mine.”

“I don’t know, I like her,” Bobbi said, her eyes flitting between you and Bucky. You found this hard to believe seeing as you’d only said like four awkward stumbling things to her, but she was also too earnest for you not to believe her. “I think I’m going to have to fight you for her, Barnes.”

The fight was stopped by the door flinging open, narrowly missing nailing Bucky in the back. Bucky swore loudly, but soon another voice was covering over his.

“ _Lucy, I’m home!_ ” Bernadette called, bounding in with a Babka under one arm and a bottle of Southern Comfort in the other hand. You could see her scan the apartment for you before finally locating you almost behind the door. She practically skipped in, throwing an arm around you and kissing your cheek. “Hi!”

“Hi,” you said, looking between her and Bucky and Bobbi. Bucky had moved to greet Steve, and Bobbi looked as if she was ready to say something before turning around and heading to finally place her wine in the kitchen.

“I thought you were coming over after class,” you whispered, happy that the rest of the party’s attention was otherwise absorbed.

“I was, but I wanted to get changed for the party, and then Steve came home and he had a bad day,” Bernie shrugged, the smile sliding off her face. “He was so wound up, I thought he’d ruin the party if he came like that.”

“So you spent three hours talking about a bad day?”

Bernadette bobbled her head. “One talking, and one and a half cheering him up.” The implication was too clear. You grimaced and Bernadette laughed at you. “Prude.”

“I’m not a prude,” You argued back. And you weren’t. You enjoyed sex as much as the next person. You’d watched plenty of intimate scenes in movies with your friends and never felt awkward. You could even say the word at normal volume without blushing. You just didn’t like to think about your friends having it.

Bernie hummed disbelievingly before breaking away to your kitchen to serve the babka and pour herself a drink. You had half a mind to follow her before a knock came from the door again. This time on the other hand was a blonde man (a groomsman, you recognized) whose elbow to wrist was wrapped in duct tape, and a girl with black hair who was carrying a couple boxes of Tony’s pizza and looked very, very put out.

This must be Clint.

“Sorry we’re late,” Clint grinned, entering the apartment first with the girl (Grace? Kate? Jade?) following behind him.

“Don’t you guys live right around the corner?” Bucky asked.

“Pretty much, but this idiot tried to take his cast off right before we left with a pair of scissors,” the girl said with a look that was equal parts _“you are the biggest dumbass_ ” and “ _what did I do to deserve this_.” Sam choked on his drink while there seemed to be a collective sigh amongst the women in the room.

“Clint,” Natasha said, holding her head in her hand.

“They can cut through a _penny_ , I thought they could cut through a cast!” Clint burst out in protest, and despite your horror, you found yourself snorting with laughter.

“Tell them why you were trying to cut off your cast,” Kate ordered, opening one of the boxes of pizza and helping herself to a slice. It was as if she was popping popcorn into her mouth.

Clint looked sheepish, and brought his other hand up to rub the back of his neck. “It was really itchy, and I couldn’t reach the spot with anything.”

Natasha walked up and smacked him on the back of the head.

“My hand felt better too! Look,” he wiggled his fingers as if that proved anything to the group. He was met with eyerolls, shakes of the head, and more laughter. This did not deter him from going over to get two slices of pizza from the box.

“So what led to this?” Bernadette asked from where she stood in Steve’s arms, gesturing to the duct tape monstrosity.

“He refused to miss the party and go to Urgent Care, and I refused to miss the party taking his dumb ass to Urgent Care, so this was the best we could come up with,” the girl shook her head. Kate. Probably. “He sliced his arm with the scissors so we poured some hydrogen peroxide down there, shoved some cotton balls in, and I taped it up so he couldn’t mess with it.”

“My God,” Bobbi commented, shaking her head.

“But look, pizza!” Clint said, pointing to the boxes.

This seemed to be enough from dissuading everybody from continuing to pile on him as plates were passed around and people settled into new conversations. Your eyes roamed over the party, watching as the old friends drank the alcohol and chatted in groups leaving you feeling very much out of place in this stupid apartment in this stupid city with this stupid idea. Even Bernadette and Steve seemed happily content cuddling in towards each other, which on the bright side, meant that you could happily go hide out in the bathroom for a bit–

“You look like you’re having a blast,” Bucky appeared next to you, breaking off your escape plan. You shot a look at him.

“Time of my life,” you answered flatly, punctuating the sentence with a swig of your drink.

Bucky smiled. “You’ve met everyone before. It’s pretty much just the wedding party, minus an asshole.”

“That doesn’t count. It was one weekend like three months ago,” you protested.

He shook his head, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if silently praying that God would reach down and pull a Natasha, smacking you across the head to bring you to your senses. You wondered if his prayer would be heard over yours that some emergency would come up that made everyone in the room clear out except for Bernadette and maybe Bucky and Steve.

“Well then, your honor, let’s go meet some people.”

“I’m good,” you shook your head.

“That’s the spirit,” he grinned lightly dragging you by your elbow as he pulled you into your party.

Meeting people wasn’t too bad.

But it wasn’t great either, especially not as more people came into your already cramped apartment.

You discovered through your forced small talk that the man who came with Wanda, Maria, and Bobbi was Bruce. He apparently worked in the same lab as Wanda, and nobody had met him before either.

You had also been an unwilling participant in a few awkward exchanges including when M'Baku arrived and pretended he couldn’t speak English much to your horror and subsequent embarrassment. Or when you had assumed that Clint and Kate were dating, and Bucky had almost spit out his drink onto you.

“We’re just roommates,” Kate shook her head. “Mostly, I put up with him for his dog.” Clint clicked onto his lock screen to show you the picture of an adorable labrador with a slice of pizza hanging out of his mouth.

“Is that–” you started.

“It’s his favorite food,” Clint grinned.

And while everyone was nice and asked you how North Carolina was and how you liked the city and what a biostatistician did, you couldn’t help but wish that all you were doing was sitting on a couch with Bernadette drinking cheap beer and gossiping. Especially since Bucky disappeared, apparently taking a page out of “Bernadette’s Book of How to Introduce Friends,” leaving you to sink or swim.

You had successfully navigated a conversation with Maria and Bobbi without putting your foot in your mouth, but when the two girls’ attention was drawn to a story Clint was telling, you once more found yourself alone in the worst way in your own apartment.

“Kristina!” Wanda greeted with a smile, pulling you in for a hug. “It’s so good to see you again. Sorry I didn’t say hi earlier. I was trying to introduce Bruce to people,” she said, gesturing at the man who was talking nearby with Natasha.

“It’s good to see you too,” you said, hugging Wanda back and feeling a surge of gratefulness that she was here. Wanda was the bridesmaid she had been closest to throughout the whole wedding. She was the buffer between you and Natasha’s imposing togetherness, Okoye’s no-nonsense attitude, and Maria’s businesslike manner. As the anxious, introverted mess of a friend, part of you had wondered if you were on your way out now that Bernadette had these strong independent women to rely on. But Wanda, she was calm and caring, and made you feel like maybe you still had a place in Bernadette’s friend group.

“I know you’d rather not talk about the apartment, but it’s actually very nice,” Wanda complimented, pulling back to look around the room.

“It’s terrible,” you flushed.

“It could use some love,” Wanda hedged. “But it’s much better than our first apartment in the city.”

“People keep saying that,” you paused, eyeing Wanda who seemed to lose interest mid sentence to take out her phone. “But it really feels like it’s just to make me feel better.”

Wanda looked up briefly from her phone, shaking her head. “Trust me, when you see this picture, you will feel better.”

Natasha wandered up, having apparently left her conversation with Bruce and cocked her head at Wanda. “Really Wan? You’re on your phone?”

“I’m showing her the picture of our first apartment.”

Natasha’s face fell. “Hurry up or Bernie’s going to hear you and get ideas.”

“She’s not gonna hear a picture.”

Your brow knit together in confusion, but you didn’t have time to ask any of the questions you wanted to because Wanda was shoving her phone into your face.

On the screen was a picture of her, Natasha, and Bernadette crammed together on a loveseat. Wanda was gripping Natasha’s arm tightly and seemed to be trying to hide _behind_ the other girl on the couch or at least crawl up onto her, a look of horror on her face as she stared at the arm of the sofa. Natasha’s look was pure annoyance, but not at Wanda–at the ceiling above the love seat’s arm. And Bernadette had her head back laughing, almost falling over the other arm.

A large grey rat lay on the arm of the chair.

“Two seconds before this was taken four rats fell through a hole in our ceiling,” Wanda explained as you passed the phone back. “Most of them scattered. This one played dead. Maybe it was dead, I don’t know.”

“Are you telling her about Couch Rat?” Bernadette asked, bounding over, and slinging an arm around you.

Natasha shot Wanda a pointed look.

“I miss that guy.”

“I don’t,” Natasha shook her head. “I also don’t miss you hiding stuffed rats in all of our things,” she added with a glance at Bernadette who burst into tittering laughter.

“It was once a month, and honestly, if you guys cleaned more often, it wouldn’t have been a problem,” Bernadette dismissed, turning over her shoulder. “Steve! Remember Couch Rat?” you flinched covering your ear which Bernadette had just shouted into and almost missing the shared rolling of eyes between Nat and Wanda.

Steve seemed to materialize from nowhere, pushing himself into the group between Bernadette and Natasha. It wasn’t much of a squeeze though because the moment Steve appeared, Natasha walked away heading over to Clint and Sam.

"Oh yeah, Couch Rat,” Steve laughed, looping an arm around Bernadette’s waist. You wondered if she could extricate herself from under Bernadette’s arm or if that would make things even more awkward than she already felt. In a wave of desperation, you flashed a look at Wanda who was too busy staring at something over your shoulder.

“Remember that time I hid it in your shoe?” Bernadette giggled up at Steve.

“It’s the reason why I always have to check my shoes before we go anywhere, thank you,” Steve teased back.

You attempted once more to make eye contact with Wanda as Steve and Bernie continued on their teasing reminiscence. Wanda was gone though. Not physically, but you knew that look in her eyes. She was either in her own land or scrolling through different strategies that would eject her out of this conversation. So, you were left alone feeling like some kind of voyeur, looking in on a friendship you couldn’t break into. And in your own apartment. This party was a mistake. This apartment was a mistake. This was all just a huge mistake. There had to be some way you could leave–

“Your honor,” Bucky approached, gesturing towards the kitchen with his head. “Can you show me where the bottle opener is?”

The question seemed to jolt Wanda back to life and remind Bernadette of your presence. If only so she could withdraw her arm from around your shoulders and back up into Steve’s embrace.“Fine, steal her away then,” Bernadette teased, sticking her tongue out at Bucky.

“You steal mine, I steal yours,” Bucky tossed back, turning as you met him to head off to the kitchen.

“You need me for a bottle opener?” you murmured.

“You looked ready to throw yourself out of a window,” Bucky remarked. “And Wanda had clearly checked out.”

Arguing would have been pointless. Your face was way too transparent for any excuse to be believable. Instead, you watched as Bucky opened your fridge and reached in for a drink, passing over a White Claw which you promptly handed back.

“I want a real drink to get through this,” you said, and Buckly laughed.

“This is a real drink.”

“This is what white women on diets drink,” you retorted, and Bucky laughed even harder.

“Fine, what do you want? Straight vodka again?” he asked, pushing open the fridge further so you could peruse the selection. And there it was. Gold. You hadn’t even noticed anybody walk in with it. If you had, you wouldn’t have been wasting your time on vodka and wine. You gasped, jostling Bucky out of the way to claim the last of your favorite beer.

“You’re kidding me,” Bucky looked at you flatly.

“What?” you asked indignantly, shutting the fridge.

“You gave me shit for a White Claw, and you’re drinking High Life?”

“Um, excuse me Your Bestness, but this is the champagne of beers,” you scoffed, popping the tab.

Bucky let out a playful scoff, cracking open his drink. “Ok, K the Plummer. Drink it quickly. I don’t want you to embarrass me in front of my friends.”

“High Life is something to be _savored_ ,” you corrected. “The only time you should ever drink it quickly is in competition.”

Bucky heaved a sigh. “Alright, if that’s the way it’s going to be. On three?”

“That wasn’t a challenge.”

“Sounded like a challenge to me.”

“It wasn’t. Besides, I thought you didn’t want me to embarrass you in front of your friends,” you sassed.

“In your dreams, Your Honor. Ready?”

You nodded. “One, two–”

“Three!” Bucky shouted as you barely got the end of the word “two” out. You let out a quick laugh before following Bucky’s lead and lifting the drink to your lips. The two of you held each other’s gaze as you slurped down the alcoholic beverages as fast as possible. Carbonation burned down your throat, and it was hard to breathe and drink and not laugh at the same time, but this was the most fun you’d had all night. Probably in the past month.

And you really didn’t want Bucky to win.

A faint cheer went up from the living room, as the rest of the party seemed to catch on to the competition–probably alerted by Bucky’s shout.

“Come on Buckaboo! Don’t let me down!” Sam called, clapping his hands. Your drink almost snorted out your nose at the nickname as Bucky broke eye contact to glare at Sam. Bernadette started a chant of “ _kick his ass, kick his ass,”_ which only Steve and Clint joined in on. Bucky’s brow scrunched as he took the can away from his lips.

“What the hell, St–”

“Drink!” Nat called out, and Bucky once again lifted his drink to his mouth as you felt the last bit of beer leave the can. You held the can up in the air victorious, attempting to swallow as Bucky finished his last bit and crushed the can on the counter.

“I won!” you both chorused.

“You didn’t crush your can,” Bucky protested, pointing to it.

“Since when did you have to crush your can? I finished it first,” you argued, flipping the can over so a single drop of liquid came out.

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “It ends with the crush,” he wiggled his crushed can at you, spraying a few drops of beer.

“She didn’t know!” Bernadette protested.

“It’s a well established rule,” Bucky argued back.

“House rule,” Sam corrected. “Man, you always establish house rules at the beginning.”

“Yesssss,” you cheered, leaning backing, pointing at Bucky with both your pointer fingers. “Take that Buckaboo.”

“I’m so proud,” Bernadette rushed over, laying a huge kiss on your cheek. “That’s my best friend!”

You smiled, and then burped loudly in Bernadette’s face, sending most of the guys into hysterics.

“Kristina, I might be in love with you,” Sam professed, and you laughed despite the pink tinge in your cheeks. Maybe you would fit in after all.

The following hours passed by quickly and without any further incidents of you putting your foot in your mouth or finding yourself in conversations you didn’t want to be in. Part of it had to be the alcohol buzzing through your veins, but the fact that Bernadette and Sam insisted on dancing and playing games for the rest of the night, certainly made things better. You won a game of _Cards Against Humanity_ much to everyone’s surprise, and had been the second person to successfully Ride the Bus.

Hours later, you found yourself sitting on the corner of your couch, snuggled between the arm and Bucky, who for his part, had learned his lesson about leaving you on your own. “Your Bestness?” you whispered, and Bucky looked at you with raised eyebrows and a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Yes, Your Honor?”

“I think I’m drunk,” you confided with a frown, your eyes darting around to see if anyone had picked up on your confession. It didn’t appear that anyone had. Bobbi was busy writing messages on Clint’s duct tape while M'Baku was alternating between lifting up Wanda and Maria one armed, each girl maintaining a firm grip on his tricep as they dangled from the ground. Sam seemed to be losing pitifully to Kate in their game of Quarters on the coffee table. Before you could locate the remaining guests, you were brought back to the conversation as Bucky shifted next to you.

“I think it’s a significant possibility,” he whispered back.

“Is it awkward to be drunk at your own party?” you winced.

He blew out a breath through his nose. If you had been slightly more sober, you might have recognized it as a laugh.

“I think you’re good.”

“I don’t want to be awkward.”

Bucky pointed a finger at Bernie who was sharing your arm chair with Steve. Which was a bit ironic given that she had seemingly stolen Steve’s beer and was hold it over his head. Steve looked very uncomfortable with the way she was squirming in his lap and kept trying to hold her still much to her amusement. “You can have it for a kiss,” she announced, bending down to kiss him, but when he reached up, she jerked back, taking the beer with her and sipping from it.

“Bernadette, give Steve the beer,” you demanded, your words slurring together. “Everyone gets to drink. It’s my party, and everyone drinks.”

“Here, here!” Sam cheered, lifting his beer in a salut. You lifted yours as well, lurching over Bucky to click cups him.

The rest of the night was a blur.

There was some more dancing, you remembered telling a story of running from the cops on your 21st birthday because you forgot you were 21, and there was lots of laughter.

You were laughing even as you helped walk people to the door. Your foot caught a loose floorboard, and you stumbled, M'Baku catching hold of your arm and keeping you upright. “Careful.”

“I got her,” Bucky stepped in, slipping a hand around your shoulders, and walking you over to the bedroom door. M'Baku smiled and left the apartment, calling out a goodbye.

“Thanks, Your Bestness. You made this not suck,” you said, allowing Bucky to redirect you to your bedroom.

A gentle smile crossed Bucky’s face. “Of course, Your Honor.”

“Hey man, let’s roll out. The cab’s here,” Sam called out from behind you.

“One sec,” Bucky shouted over his shoulder, opening the door for you and flicking on the light. “Are you ok? Do you need help getting to bed?”

“Nah,” you shook her head, the motion causing the room the swirl around you. You shook it in the opposite direction to balance it out, which didn’t exactly work as planned as you stumbled again, and Bucky steadied you. “I’ll be fine.”

“Water? Tylenol?”

“That’s Future Kristina’s problem,” you dismissed, and Bucky laughed. 

“Make sure you text me tomorrow, ok?”

“M'kay mom,” you snorted, breaking free from Bucky’s grasp to crawl onto your bed.

“Goodnight, K.”

“Goodnight Bucky.” Your eyes were already closed as you heard the lights flick off and the door click closed, leaving you floating off to sleep with a small smile. 


End file.
